


Being Human

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, British Men of Letters Being Assholes, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Post-Episode: s12e14 The Raid, Season/Series 12, hurt Garth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 14:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10492692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: When the British Men of Letters end up hunting down Garth, it’s up to Dean and Cas to mount a rescue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I got this prompt from 29Pieces before the summary for 12x16 was released. That will be interesting tomorrow. In any case, this should sound vaguely familiar… Buffy season 4, anyone?  
> Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading, too!
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Takes place after 12x14 "The Raid," but ignores 12x15. Also, I'm sorry to say that Sam does not come out in the best light here. :-/

Dean sat alone in a booth at a diner, going over the menu with its various choices of pie. Nothing really appealed to him at the moment.

The bells above the door chimed with a customer's entrance, and Dean looked up to see Cas scanning the restaurant before the angel made eye contact with him and headed over.

"Hello, Dean," he greeted, sliding into the bench seat across the table.

"Hey," Dean replied. "Thanks for comin'."

Cas's brows furrowed, perplexed. "Of course. What's going on?"

"Who says something's going on?" he replied a tad defensively. "Can't two friends go out for pie?"

Cas was eyeing him with that soul-piercing gaze that Dean always found unnerving—and annoying…and yet also somehow reassuring when he was about to shut down per his normal MO. And he'd called Cas precisely because the angel could call him out on his bullshit.

The waitress came over before the angel could, though. "Ready to order?"

Dean set the menu aside. "Just coffee, thanks."

Her cheer diminished slightly, maybe from calculating the low tip she'd be getting if that was all they ordered. "And you?" she asked Cas.

"The same," he said, briefly giving her a tentative smile.

"Right." She put her blank order pad away and went to the counter to grab the coffee pot.

Neither Dean nor Cas spoke as she filled the mugs on the table. Dean instantly reached for it to take a sip, heedless of almost scalding his tongue.

Cas was still staring at him intently. "You didn't order any pie." He leaned forward intently. "Dean, what's wrong? Where's Sam?"

Dean snorted. "Nothing's wrong. And Sam's off doing something." His little brother had been kind of distant after the vampire raid of the British Men of Letters headquarters, and Dean suspected he might have been spending time with Mom. Not that spending time with their mother was a bad thing, just…complicated.

He pushed his coffee away. "I told Mom I accepted the fact she wanted to work with the British Men of Letters."

Cas canted his head thoughtfully. "Did you lie?"

"No. I don't know." Dean shook his head in frustration. "She's an adult and can do what she wants. I accept that she's never gonna be the person I remember—or thought I remembered. But I'm still not happy about the British dickbags."

Cas was silent for a moment. "You did mention that their methods were…thorough."

Dear let out a derisive snort. "So thorough they drew the attention of the Alpha Vamp who nearly killed them all." He still couldn't believe how stupid these so-called professionals were that they hadn't been prepared for something like that.

"But, the Alpha Vampire is now dead," Cas pointed out. And why did he have to sound so damn reasonable?

"Because Sam was there to save their asses," Dean scowled. "With, oh yeah, the Colt! Which those bastards sent _Mom_ to steal from a Prince of Hell that almost got you killed. Doesn't that bother you?"

Cas just gave him a patient look. "Mary thought she was doing the right thing."

"Why aren't you pissed?" Dean snapped, trying not to raise his voice in a public place, but _he_ was still pissed about it.

"I'm hardly one who should pass judgement," Cas replied ruefully.

Dean's jaw tightened and he dropped his gaze to his coffee. "I just don't know what to do with…us. She's my mom…but not." Hell, he was _older_ than she was. She'd died at twenty-nine and been brought back, while Dean was already in his late-thirties.

"You have to give each other time."

Dean wrapped his hands around the mug, hating himself for his next thought, but knowing that of all people, Cas was the safe person to admit it to. "And if it turns out that being blood isn't enough?"

Cas's brows knitted together, not in judgement, but deep consideration. "I think it is enough for you, Dean," he finally said. "But I understand the feelings of…futility, when you're still trying without seeing much progress." Cas offered him a tentative half-smile. "But you are quite stubborn, so I'm sure you'll find a way to work things out."

Dean rolled his eyes. Why did Cas's compliments always seem to sound backhanded? "Thanks for the pep talk," he muttered.

"You're welcome," Cas said sincerely, and that did make Dean shake his head in fond exasperation. He'd known he could count on his best friend to be the rock and source of sound advice he needed.

Dean's phone started ringing, then, and he shot Cas an apologetic look as he reached to get it. He didn't recognize the number. "Winchester Exterminators," he answered.

"D-dean," a harried voice stuttered.

Dean furrowed his brow. " _Garth_?" Talk about another blast from the past.

"Yeah, it's me. Long time, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." Last Dean had heard, Garth was going to stay with his peace-loving werewolf pack. "What's going on?"

"I need help. Our pack was attacked by these hard core commando types. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the government suddenly got their own secret branch of hunters."

Commando? …oh no.

"They have British accents?" Dean asked sharply.

Across from him, Cas was watching intently, presumably listening in with his celestial hearing.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"We've had a few run-ins. Where are you?"

"Hartford. Kansas. I managed to lead them away from Bess and the others, but uh, these guys are persistent, and I- I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

"Alright, me and Cas will come get you," Dean said, sliding out of the booth and throwing a couple of bills on the table. "You holed up somewhere safe?"

Garth let out a strangled sounding noise. "Not sure safe is on the map at this point. I've already burned through two safe houses."

Dammit. "There somewhere public you can sit and wait for us?"

"Um, I'm outside a Chinese restaurant. Wu Fong's."

"Okay, good," Dean said hurriedly. "We'll be there soon." He disconnected and immediately called Sam, but his brother hadn't answered by the time they reached the car, and then it went to voicemail. Dean hung up without leaving a message and climbed behind the wheel.

"What did Garth mean his pack?" Cas asked as he slipped into the passenger seat.

"Oh, yeah, Garth's a werewolf now," Dean explained, pulling out of the lot and hitting the highway. "Happened on a hunt a few years back. He ended up meeting a werewolf chick and marrying her. Their pack doesn't eat human hearts, just cows."

Well, _now_ their pack didn't eat humans, after he and Sam had ganked the fanatics. But Garth and Bess were good people, and there was no way they should have even ended up on the British Men of Letters' radar.

It only took forty minutes to reach the town Garth had called from, and from there five minutes for Cas to pull up the address and map to the Chinese restaurant on his phone. Dean parked and ran inside, but a quick survey of the restaurant showed no Garth. He even checked the customer bathroom before heading back outside.

Cas exited the car with a questioning frown.

"He's not here," Dean growled, looking around for some sign of the scrawny dude.

Cas also roved his gaze around the area, then narrowed his eyes toward the back alley. Without a word, he started toward it. Dean quirked a brow, but followed.

"Those are fresh tire tracks," Cas said, pointing to some black streaks on the pavement. "Either from a quick stop or quick acceleration."

"Maybe the delivery guy was late on an order."

Cas crouched down, canting his head to the side. He reached out a finger and dabbed it in a few drops of blood Dean hadn't spotted before. Raising his bloodied finger to his nose, Cas took a sniff. Dean shifted his weight awkwardly. They'd talked about this…

"It's werewolf," Cas said suddenly, making Dean completely forget his prepared lecture.

"Are you sure?"

Cas stood up quickly. "Yes."

" _Dammit_." Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Mick Davies, a call he never thought he'd be making, but since Mom had been working so closely with them, Dean had kept the douchebag's number on hand, just in case. If they'd only recently nabbed Garth, then maybe they hadn't killed him yet, probably wanting to find a 'clean' location.

"Dean Winchester," the annoyingly chipper Brit greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You guys running a werewolf hunt in Hartford?" Dean snapped, not bothering with pleasantries.

There was a beat of silence in response. "Ah, was it yours?" Mick said. "I do apologize, we had no idea. We'd been tracking a pureblood to acquire for research. However, others of the pack are still in the wind, if you would like our intel on them."

Dean opened his mouth to tell Mick where he could shove his intel, before his brain caught up to him. "Research?" he repeated. "You aren't taking him somewhere to kill him?"

"No, but don't worry. Our containment facility is state-of-the-art. He won't pose a danger to the public—"

Dean hung up. Garth was alive, and on his way to the British Men of Letters' headquarters, if not already there.

Cas was frowning at him. "Why didn't you explain who Garth is?"

"Because I doubt those bastards would listen," he said, heading back to the car. Not only were the British Men of Letters ruthless in their hunts, but capturing monsters for _research_? There was no humanizing a werewolf to cold-hearted sons-of-bitches like that.

"Up for a rescue mission?" Dean asked.

"Of course," Cas immediately replied, and Dean couldn't help but quirk a small smile at how readily Cas was willing to back him up.

They climbed into the Impala, and Dean gunned it toward the British headquarters. He didn't really have much of a plan in mind, though with Cas along, Dean figured they could probably just blow in the front door. He tried calling Sam again, but his brother still wasn't answering.

As it turned out, the guard at the gate let them drive into the compound. Apparently, the Winchesters had an open invitation, likely because Mick was still hoping to recruit them. But Dean did not like the calculating looks the guards were giving Cas as the two of them exited the car, and knew that these guys had technology capable of subduing an angel. He didn't plan to tempt them.

"Cas," he said in a low voice, making eye contact pointedly.

The two guards were converging on them, not threatening—yet. Dean flicked his eyes toward them, and Cas moved forward. They didn't raise their guns, suggesting they weren't prepared to immediately be hostile, but Dean wasn't going to give them the chance. Besides, better to neutralize them now rather than on their way out, because the guards sure as hell weren't going to let them leave with a werewolf in tow.

With a touch, Cas knocked them both out in one swift movement. Dean told him to grab one of the men and drag him to the outer door so they could use his handprint to open the door. The scanner read the unconscious guy's palm, beeped, and released the lock. Cas dropped the guard like a sack of potatoes.

Dean entered the compound, a weird arrangement of shipping containers stacked together into corridors and chambers. He and Cas took a few quick turns, trying to find their way to the central control room based on the layout they'd glimpsed from outside. It wasn't hard to find.

They swept into a large space with a conference table and multiple computer stations, only to come to an abrupt halt. Everyone in the room had fallen into stunned silence at their intrusion, but Dean was staring at one dumbfounded individual in particular.

" _Dean_?" Sam gaped at him in equal surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Me?" he blustered. "What the hell are you doing here?" He thought Sam had been with Mom, who Dean knew was in Oklahoma on a case; otherwise he might have called her for help saving Garth.

A muscle in Sam's jaw jumped guiltily, like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I've been, uh, working with Mick. On cases."

Dean just stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing. Sam and _Mick_? "Cases, huh?" Dean finally managed to get out. "Like werewolves? Hell, Sam, did you tell these bastards about Garth?"

Sam's face scrunched up in confusion. "Garth? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Ask your new butt-buddy," Dean snarled, shooting Mick a murderous glare.

Sam turned toward the Brit, who was flicking flummoxed looks between them.

"Maybe I should just give you all a moment…" Mick started.

Cas moved forward to block his path when he tried to leave. "Where is the werewolf you captured earlier?" he demanded with such violence reverberating in his tone that Mick's eyes widened.

Several people in the background exchanged unnerved glances, and one person reached for a phone.

"Hey!" Dean snapped, gesturing for them to back away.

"It's all right," Mick called, though his throat bobbed in contradiction to that statement. "Just…go find something to do."

The staff traded more nervous looks, but slowly began to make a hasty retreat.

"Wait," Sam broke in. "You're saying the British Men of Letters grabbed Garth?"

"That's exactly what they did." Dean stepped closer to Mick, skewering him with a threatening glare. "After attacking his pack. His peaceful, _animal_ -eating pack."

Sam shot the Brit a bewildered look. "But why?"

Mick glanced between them in stupefaction. "It's a werewolf…" he sputtered, as though it were obvious.

Cas grabbed him by his collar, leaning in with lethal intent. "Where?"

"C-containment," Mick stuttered, looking ready to shit his pants. "Warehouse at the back of the lot."

"I've seen it," Sam put in, like he was trying to be _helpful_. Dean didn't have time to deal with Sam's crap right now, though.

Cas shoved Mick away, and the Brit stumbled to keep his balance. Dean turned and stormed away, back toward the exit. Both Cas and Sam followed.

"Dean, I swear I didn't know."

"Save it."

"You can't honestly think I'd let them hurt Garth—"

"I don't know what to think right now," Dean cut him off.

Because his brother was working with the British Men of Letters behind his back, just like Mom. And just as with Mom, one of their friends had ended up in the crossfire. Never mind if Sam hadn't been directly involved with this instance; he should have seen it coming.

Once outside, Sam pushed ahead to lead the way to the warehouse, which wasn't even guarded. Maybe Mick had warned them off.

Cas strode right up to the door and stretched out his hand. His eyes shone like blue stars, and Dean felt static tingle down the back of his neck. A second later, the thick metal slab exploded inward with a concussive crash.

"Nice," Dean remarked, stepping over the debris.

Alarms were sounding, but no one came running, and the blaring actually cut off prematurely. Cas paused for the briefest moment, canting his head, before he turned left and swept down the corridor like a hurricane. They passed glass-walled cells holding a variety of monsters like some damn menagerie. And shit, what were these asshats doing with them all?

As they turned a corner, Dean heard screams echoing from down the hall. Screams that then turned into agonized howls. He bolted into a run, and finally skidded to a stop in front of a cell whose glass panel had been slid open. Inside, a half transformed werewolf was writhing on the floor, its wrists, ankles, and neck all manacled and bolted to the ground. Yellow eyes gleamed with rabid frenzy and salvia foamed up out of its mouth. If it weren't for the lanky build, Dean wouldn't have even guessed it was Garth.

Ketch was standing off to one side, a blocky looking phaser or something in his hands. He started in surprise at their arrival. "Ah…hello," he said, flicking an appraising look over the three of them. "Dean, what a surprise. I hadn't expected you."

But he'd expected Sam. Dean clenched his fists.

"If you've come for a demonstration," Ketch went on, "unfortunately, it's not ready. We're still working out a few calibrations." He tilted the phase gun to give it a ruminative once-over. "But I must say it is performing remarkably well."

"What is it?" Cas asked when Dean couldn't seem to form the words. He was too busy flashing tense looks at Garth, unable to recognize his friend behind the feral madness slobbering on the floor.

"It emits a sound at a frequency only canines can hear," Ketch replied. "We've been fine-tuning it to specifically target lycanthropes in the hopes that the right frequency will destroy the brain cells."

_That_ snapped Dean out of his stupor. "Shut it off!"

Ketch frowned at him. "It's not currently on." His eyes narrowed further, then widened in dismay. "Oh, don't tell me this specimen is another one of your pets."

Fury erupted in Dean's veins. "Excuse me?" he snapped.

"He's a friend, and a fellow hunter," Sam put in. "He got bitten on a hunt, but he doesn't eat human hearts!"

Ketch's brows rose with incredulity. "I see," he said carefully.

"You experiment on all the monsters you got locked in this place?" Dean demanded, still trying to figure out how to approach Garth, because until he shifted back to human, they couldn't exactly get him out of those chains.

"We can't field test weapons before knowing whether they work," Ketch replied as though that was a stupid question. "Operatives could get killed."

A part of Dean didn't disagree…but killing monsters was one thing. Using them for torturous experiments was something else entirely. Something he didn't want any part of. Ketch may have been right before, that Dean was a killer at heart.

But he wasn't a psychopath.

"You're gonna let us take him out of here," Dean said, indicating Garth. "Or Cas is going to smite you to smithereens."

Ketch didn't say anything for a long moment. Cas's presence was filling the room with crackling menace, and he wasn't even showing off his wings.

Finally, Ketch raised his palms in capitulation. "Very well, then." He slowly skirted around them toward the exit, taking that heinous phaser with him. Dean hoped he wasn't going out for reinforcements, because even Cas probably wouldn't be able to take on a troop of them armed with sigiled weapons. They needed to get out of here, _now_.

Dean crouched down, trying to make himself appear as non-threatening as possible. "Garth? Hey, it's Dean. I'm gonna get you out of here."

The werewolf let out a high-pitched whine, but then the wild, crazed look in those amber eyes gradually morphed into sheer terror. "D'n?" Garth tried to say, but the word was garbled by a mouth full of fang.

"Yeah. Told you I'd come get you." Dean kept his voice level and calm, despite the adrenaline pumping a frantic sense of urgency through his blood. "But you gotta turn back to human so we can go, okay?"

Garth whimpered again, his entire body giving a violent shudder as the wolf began to recede. Claws and fangs retracted, fur slurped back into skin, leaving a frail, skinny guy in a ripped shirt and jeans, shivering on the floor.

"Okay, hang tight, buddy," Dean said. "We'll get you out of those. Cas?"

The angel stepped forward, and Garth flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as ripples ran underneath his skin as though he was on the verge of shifting again.

"Hey, Garth, you remember Cas, right?" Dean said, hoping the guy could keep it together.

"Mhmph-hm," he mumbled.

"I won't hurt you," Cas promised, crouching down. He grasped the metal collar around Garth's neck, and a split second later it glowed hot before Cas ripped it off with his bare hands. He did the same to each shackle on Garth's wrists and ankles, throwing the metal pieces into the corner with a clang.

Dean reached for his arm. "Okay, come on, up we go."

Sam darted in to take Garth's other side, and Dean didn't comment, even though the scrawny dude was so light Dean would have been able to carry him bridal-style. But now wasn't the time.

With Garth supported between the Winchesters and Cas taking point, they all made their way out of the freak-show dungeon. No armed guns were waiting for them outside, which was good. Dean still kept tossing nervous looks around the compound, though, just waiting for an attack. None came.

They got Garth to the Impala and helped him into the backseat. Then Sam stepped back.

"Take care of him," he said.

Dean whirled to face him. "You're _staying_?"

Sam's eyes swam with regret, but he lifted a staunch chin. "I'll make sure they never come after Garth again, or the rest of his pack."

Once again, Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Oh, well, ain't that generous of you. Come off it, Sam! These guys are the real monsters here."

Sam's jaw tightened. "Look, I don't agree with all their methods, either, but they're also doing good work. And they're not going away any time soon, so we should try working together. At least this way I can make sure they don't go after the wrong people again."

"Do you hear yourself?" Dean exclaimed. "They don't see people like Garth or Cas _as_ people!" He stared incredulously at his brother, but Sam's resolve was apparently unwavering, leaving them both at an impasse.

"Dean," Cas spoke up quietly.

He shook his head in disappointment, and turned away. Behind him, he heard Sam say to Garth,

"I'll fix this."

Dean climbed behind the wheel and slammed the door closed. Cas quickly slipped into the passenger seat, and with Garth safely tucked in back, Dean turned the key in the ignition and backed up halfway so he could turn around. He didn't bother looking at Sam in the rearview mirror.

Garth made a pained sound in the back of his throat.

"You okay?" Dean asked him.

"Um, not really," he replied shakily.

Cas twisted around in his seat to look back there. "I'm sorry I can't heal you, but angelic healing is reserved for humans and other angels."

"It's okay," Garth said. "I have a killer migraine, mostly. It should go away." He fell quiet for a few moments, with only the roar of the engine to fill the silence. "Um, Dean," Garth spoke up hesitantly. "Was Sam…?"

Dean tightened his grip around the steering wheel.

"The British Men of Letters are attempting to ally themselves with American hunters in an effort to rid the United States of monsters," Cas answered for him. "Sam…believes that's worth looking into."

"Oh. Okay."

Dean veered onto the highway and pressed the gas pedal harder. "I'll help you and the pack go into hiding, get you new identities, the works." He didn't care how well-intentioned Sam's hopes for talking to the British assholes were; it likely wouldn't work in the end. And if his brother was too thick to see that right now, then it was up to Dean to take care of their friends.

Garth didn't say anything, which was fine with Dean, because he didn't know what to say about this whole screwed up business. All he knew was that lines were being drawn in the sand…and it wasn't a simple division between monster and human. Dean's blood family may have been on one side, but with an angel in the passenger seat and a werewolf in the back, he was beginning to think his allegiance might be with the monsters.

Because that was apparently the more human side to be on.


End file.
